


When It Snows:

by drimnotgaywatson



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Banter, Fluff, M/M, Realization, Snow, Snow Shenanigans, bad words, im bad at tagging, this is probably horrible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 00:28:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5806186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drimnotgaywatson/pseuds/drimnotgaywatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something I decided to write because I've been kept up in my house for two days because of the snowstorm we had. Sherlock and John find themselves a bit in the same situation. Only their situation ends up a lot better than my own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When It Snows:

John stepped out of his room and took to the stairs one by one. The living room was empty but he can see the snow falling from the window. He went through the living room and crossed over to the kitchen. Sherlock was already set at the table, his head bent over his microscope working on an experiment. _He's keeping himself occupied that's good._ John thought to himself. Opening the kitchen cupboard above the kitchen range. He set two cups on the counter and turned to get started on preparing the kettle. He was relieved. The snow had been falling since last night, which gives them little to nothing to do. There were no cases. John had been worried he would have woken up to more holes in the wall. Sherlock always somehow found is revolver. Lost in his own thoughts John began filling the kettle with water.

“We are out of milk.” Sherlock's said suddenly, giving John quite a start. 

“What was that?” John asked, not hearing him the first time. 

“Milk. We are out of it.”

John felt his shoulders get heavy with disappointment. 

“Oh?”

John examined the fridge and closed the door with a light slam. Sherlock's eyes flicked over to him. 

“Problem?”

“Yes! Sherlock, there is a problem.” he enunciated slowly. 

“We are in a State of Emergency.” he crossed the room and gestured to their window.  
“There has got to be almost two feet of snow. Transport is down, and surely no store will have milk now.”

Sherlock stood from the table.  
“Not with that attitude.” Sherlock said crisply, though his lips quirked slightly.  
“Come along then.” he pushed past John and grabbed his scarf and started to wrap it around his neck. Then quickly put his coat on.

 

 

“You cannot be serious, Sherlock!?”

“Get your coat, John.” 

“You don't even like going to the store!” John complained. 

“My blogger needs his milk. I'm bored, might as well come along. Wouldn't want you getting lost in a snow drift or mound along the way.” 

John looked out of the window for a few seconds more when he felt something heavy drop onto his shoulders. 

“Your coat, John.”

“Surely the stores are probably closed, Sherlock. Really I can just go down the stairs and ask Mrs. Hudson.”

“Won't do, she is away, remember.”

Knowing he wasn't going to win this fight with Sherlock, he rarely ever does, he pushed his arms through the coat on his shoulders and zipped it up. They were then on their way outside. Wen Sherlock opened the front door a blast of cold air hit them in the face. The streets were quiet. Not a car in sight. No pedestrians walking and the cafe next door was closed, as all the stores should be. 

“Come, John.” Sherlock made his way down the steps outside and shrunk a considerable amount into the snow. 

“No.” he fought a grin; and watched in amusement as the snow started to cling to Sherlock's curls. 

“This is ridiculous, lets just go back--” before he could finish his sentence Sherlock was already attempting to trudge down the sidewalk, which really resembled some sort of waddle.

With a sigh John made his way outside. Once he was off of the final step he cringed as the snow got up to his knees. 

_Ah yes. More snow then I expected. Bloody hell._

This was mad. There was no way. 

“Well aren't you--” Sherlock turned around and a laugh escaped from his lips, and John frowned crossing his arms over his chest. 

“John you look like a child.”

 

“Piss off.”

“Now don't be like that—John, what are you doing?” he asked as John bent over and started packing snow in his hands. 

“John, no!!” Sherlock squawked attempting to turn and get away but the snow ball hit him right in the back of the head. Sherlock cracked his neck an evil grin making its way onto his lips. He sneakily took a handful of snow and turned around slowly; his hands behind his back. Another one of John's snowballs hit him in the chest and he watched as it broke into pieces and fell to the ground. He raised an eyebrow at John and began walking towards him which made John stop and begin backing up. When he approached John he got very close to his face. John's cheeks were flushed. Along with the tip of his nose. It was endearing and it was evident he was cold. He really couldn't be so mean. Could he? Sherlock quirked his lips. 

 

“Whatever you are planning don—oh Christ that's cold.” he howled as Sherlock shoved snow down the back of his jacket which made a soft rumble of chuckles come from Sherlock. The type where he smiles big and his eyes get squinty. 

John began laughing too—feeling a bit lighter. He hasn't done something like this in ages. But it was really cold outside and it was starting to make his shoulder ache. 

He looked at Sherlock, his cheeks rend and flushed much like his own. Sherlock smiled again. Gentle. One of those ones that are only reserved for him and Mrs. Hudson alone. 

John's heart fluttered.  
“Let's forget the milk.” he said softly. “Before we freeze our arses off.”  
John decided then to turn towards the door.

He made his way inside and immediately peeled off his wet jacket. His back still covered in the snow Sherlock shoved down his jacket. He hung the coat on the banister and felt Sherlock behind him more than he heard him. 

John turned around and Sherlock stepped closer; his eyes searching. The air between them felt different. Instead of saying anything John reached up and started brushing the snow away from Sherlock's curls. 

John had always wanted to touch Sherlock's hair, to run his fingers through it. But he never felt like he could. But it was when Sherlock began brushing the snow off of him as well. First from his hair, then from his back. Sherlock's hands were hesitant then they just stopped; resting on his lower back and John thinks he has forgotten how to breathe. It was weirdly domestic and oddly enough—John was okay with it. It was everything he wanted and so much more. 

“Can-can I kiss you?” Sherlock whispered. 

“Oh god yes.”


End file.
